Then Patience relaxed a little. She knew those hands, knew only one man that large. Will slowly lifted himself waist-high above the gunnel. Then he swung his legs one at a time onto the deck, stood up, and began to walk toward the stern. He was naked. And Patience, perpetually aroused from the passion of her unendingly erotic dreams, gasped in spite of herself.

He froze immediately. Patience was ashamed of having so little self-control that she would make an involuntary sound; Will showed no shame about his nakedness.

He saw her, shook his head, and then walked toward her a few steps before rounding the cabin wall to where his clothes were waiting.

In the moonlight, Patience clearly saw the wide white hairless scar tissue that formed a dimpled and puckered cross from his navel to the root of his groin, and from stern to stern of his hips. From the width of the scars, it was plain he had been branded long ago, as a child. But it was still a shock to her. Only one sect chose to disfigure themselves with the sign of the cross in the hidden places of their bodies. Will was a Vigilant.

He did not try to conceal it. He faced her as he pulled on his shirt first, then his trousers. His hair still dripped with water; he left his stockings and boots aside. In two steps he was before her, as tall as Skyfoot from her perspective. Then in a single swift motion he sat down and looked in her eyes. "A Vigilant was once my master," he said softly.

She did not know why she was afraid of him now.

When she had served Oruc, the Vigilants were dangerous because they paid no heed at all to law or government, and when they spoke there was revolution in their words and the courage of madness in their eyes. They were dangerous because the common people believed that they held some special power from God, and came to visit them in their solitary huts, bringing food, clothing, and above all, an eager audience for their sedition.

That was no risk to her now. With what the Vigilants believed about her, she was in less danger from a Vigilant than anyone alive.

But she was afraid.

"Vigilants don't brand their slaves," she said. "Not against their will."

Will nodded. "I was a Vigilant, too. As a child."

"Did you renounce the vows?"

"No."

"Then you're a Vigilant still?"

"I think of my life-as a vigil. But most of the hermits in their little huts would think I am a blasphemer."

"And why is that?"

"Because I don't believe that Kristos will come to unite all humans to rule the world in perfect peace and harmony."

Already this morning he had said more to her than in all the weeks before. Yet his speech was as simple as his silence had been, as if speech or silence made no difference to him. She could have asked him these questions at any time, and he would have answered. "What is your vigil, then?"

"What all vigils are-for the coming of Kristos."

"You go in circles."

"In spirals. Closer to the truth on each pass."

She thought again about what he had said, trying to figure out the answer to the problem he had posed. Then she realized that he was testing her, just as Father and Angel had always tested her. She shook her head. "Just tell me. Or don't tell me. I don't care."

"I believe that Kristos will come to unite geblings, dwelfs, and gaunts. And humans, too, if they can humble themselves enough."

"Vigilants don't believe that geblings have souls."

"I told you I was a blasphemer."

"And what of me?" she asked.

Will shook his head and looked down at the deck. She studied his face, the open simplicity of his look. She had once thought him stupid, from this visage. Now she saw him as a man at peace with himself, open-faced not because he was naive and trusting, but rather because he was wise and trustworthy. A man without guile. If he did not want to answer, he did not lie; he simply said nothing.

It was the only situation her diplomatic training had never prepared her for: an honest man.

Finally he lifted his gaze to her face. His expression changed again. What was it? Despair and hope, struggling together?

"What do you hope for?" she whispered.

He did not speak. Instead, he reached out his massive hand and brushed the backs of his fingers against her lips. It was the gesture of obeisance to the Heptarch. She went cold inside. Another one who had plans for her.

But then he shook his head. "It's a lie," he said.

"Once that was all I wanted for you."

"And now?"

His hand passed behind her head, covering the stubble of the part of her hair that had been shaved, gripping her firmly and yet without violence. He leaned his face toward hers, kissed her on the cheek, and pressed his cheek to hers for a long moment.

No one had ever embraced her like this. Since her mother died she could not remember anyone really embracing her at all. Her control slipped away, and she trembled. After all the pent-up yearning of the Cranning call, she could not help but know that this was what her body wanted. She turned her face, kissed his cheek.

And then cried out in pain.

He quickly pulled away from her, studied her face.

Could he see the terrible wave of revulsion that swept over her body?

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No," she whispered, struggling to say words at all.

"No, it's Unwyrm, he forbids it, he forbids-" But Patience did not wish to be forbidden. Impulsively she took Will's shirt and pulled herself to him, pressed her face against his shoulders; she felt his tentative hands touch her back, her shoulders, and his breath was warm in her hair.

But the longer he held her, the more agonizing the punishment from Unwyrm. Even though she was breathing, she felt a terrible, urgent need to breathe, as though someone had pressed a pillow over her face. I am breathing, she told herself, but her body panicked in spite of her will. She pushed Will away and hurled herself down to the deck, gasping.

"You are Kristos," Will said. "Don't you see? You're the hero to face the wyrm in his lair. You're the one who will save or destroy us all, man and gebling, dwelf and gaunt."

The punishment eased, now that he wasn't touching her. She began to breathe more calmly.

"He doesn't touch your deepest place," said Will.

"He can only force your passion, not your will. All the Wise who went to him, they were weaker than their passion. They had spent all their lives increasing their understanding, building their stories of the world. Their memory, their identity, that part of the triune soul was honed to perfection, sharper than any sword I ever carried into battle. But when Unwyrm came, he came to their passion. It was unfamiliar territory to them, a place they had not conquered in their soul, and so they went to him, thinking they had no choice."

"He made me think I couldn't breathe, even though I was breathing."

"If you had wanted to stay in my arms," said Will, "you would have stayed."

"I couldn't."

"If you had wanted to, completely, without any reservation of your own, you could have stayed."

"How do you know what I can or cannot do?"

"Because he has called me, and I know the limits of his power."

She studied him as well as she could in the moonlight.

As far as she could tell, he spoke the truth. This hulking giant was one of the Wise? This man who had pulled on his own plow in Reek's field, who never spoke, who had lived as a slave and believed at least some of the doctrine of the Vigilants-was one of the Wise?

"You and I," said Will, "we have learned the same strength. We both grew up under strong masters, and we both obeyed. But we learned to turn our obedience into freedom. We learned how to choose to obey, even when others thought we had no choice. So that even though we gave the appearance of having no will of our own, all our actions all our lives have been free."